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Monday, October 19, 2015

Tara’s fingers fumbled for the pen
and paper she kept by the sink. She heard the truck pull up and ran to the kitchen
window with hopes of writing down the licence plate number but it was too dark.
They always waited until night fall to dump their garbage on the road behind
her house.

She couldn’t understand it. The
city dump was a five minute drive away. They accepted all garbage for free yet
people continued to treat the road behind her Newfoundland Housing unit like a
dumping ground.

It irritated her to no end. What
really made her mad was it happened on a weekly basis. One day it was an old
dishwasher. Another a box spring and mattress. Then a discarded TV.

Did they think they could throw
their garbage in her back yard because she too was garbage?

She wasn’t having it. She pulled on
her old sneakers and walked through the dewy grassy yard to where it met the
road. It was an old couch this time. She
lifted the end and dragged it down towards a ditch. The legs of the couch were
digging into the gravel next to the road making it harder to pull. She became
more determined and tugged so hard it felt like her fingers would break. A tear
snuck from her eye and slid down her cheek. She lifted her face to the cool
wind to dry it.

Tara had made the decision a long
time ago not to cry. She ran out of tears when her daughter was born. As she
struggled to drag the couch toward the ditch a memory from the morning her
mother found out came flooding back to her.

The urge to throw up came upon her
so quickly that morning she barely made it to the toilet. One second she was fixing
her hair with the new straightening iron she received for her 15th
birthday. The next she was on her knees holding on to the toilet seat throwing
up her breakfast. Her mother heard her choking up the vomit and came running in
the bathroom. “Are you ok?” Her concern turned to disgust when Tara lifted her
head. “For fuck sake Tara you’re pregnant aren’t you?”

Tara didn’t know what she was
talking about. Her mother always thought the worst of her even though she was
on the honour roll and excelled at everything she was in. A while ago she had
gone a little too far with her boyfriend but when she refused to do it again
the next night he broke up with her. Tara was relieved really because she
wanted to break up with him but didn’t know how. Surely she couldn’t get
pregnant the first time.

Her mother stormed back in the
bathroom as she was wiping the puke from her face. “Get dressed. We’re going to
the doctor.”

Two hours later the doctor
confirmed she was six weeks pregnant. When she got home her mother slapped her
across the face. It was the first time in her life she had been hit. Tara began
to cry uncontrollable while her mother went into a tirade of name calling from
“Whore” to “disgrace to your family.” Soon her father came barging through the door.
Screams and shouts were heard from the kitchen while Tara lay on the bed in her
room curled up in a ball. She heard her father’s footsteps on the stairs. She
was sure he would fix everything. He would protect his little baby girl as he
always said he would. Her bedroom door flung open.

“You fucking little slut! What if
the other lawyers in my office find out about this? I’ve worked my whole
goddamn life to put this roof over your head and you thank me by laying on your
back for some punk, ass boy.”

She sat up in shock. Her mother
came running in the room behind him. “You’re getting an abortion. I have already
called the doctor’s office to arrange it. We’ll say it was a rape.” She looked
Tara square in the eye. “It was a rape wasn’t it?”

“No.” Was all Tara could get out.
The appointment was made for the abortion and that morning Tara’s mother came
into her room asking if she was ready like they were going to the dentist. Her
father went back to work immediately so no one in his office would suspect he
had family issues. It was very important to keep up the family façade in order
for him to make partner.

She refused to go. At first her
mother stared at her in disbelieve. Then she tried pleading her case. She went
through the whole “You’re ruining your life. You won’t finish school. Your
friends will make fun of you.”

Tara refused the abortion. Her
parents refused to accept their 15 year daughter being pregnant. It came to a head
one night when her father grabbed clothes from her dresser, angrily stuffing
them into a garbage bag and throwing it in to the back of his Mercedes. “You
want to be a whore. You go live with the whores!” He drove her to the welfare
office and parked the car in front. He grabbed the garbage bag and threw it on
the sidewalk. He opened the passenger door and dragged a hysterical Tara out of
the car. “This is what you want. This is what you got.” She watched him drive
away waiting for her father to come back for his baby girl. He never did.

The next morning a social worker
found her crying and shivering on the doorstep. They found her a boarding house
first. After the baby was born she moved to a townhouse. She called home the
day her daughter was born hoping her mother’s heart had softened. Her mother’s
only words were “You made your bed. Now lay in it.” Then hung up the phone. No
one came to visit. The social worker drove her and the baby to their new house.
Before she left, the worker pulled a package wrapped in pink paper from her
briefcase and gave it to Tara. It was a tiny pair of pink pajamas. She used the
paper to line the bottom in the second hand dresser in her daughter’s room. It
was still there.

She pushed the couch over the edge
watching it roll down the embankment and disappear in the dark. Tomorrow when
her daughter went out to play she would not see garbage in her back yard. She
would not know that she had grandparents who considered themselves too
respectable to acknowledge her.

That day started out with so much
hope. Her high school diploma came in the mail. She had finished by
correspondence and graduated with honours. It was the last document she needed
to apply for a university grant. She was working on the application when she
heard the truck. “I made my bed. Now I’ll lay in it” she said as she closed her
backdoor and locked it. “But at least it’s my bed mom. At least its mine.”

If I ever
end up in a home for the bewildered, I have a pact with my daughter to pluck my
chin hairs.

My greatest
fear about growing old is not ending up in a home, or having to wear Depends,
it’s that my eyes will get so bad I won’t notice my chin hairs are reaching my
nipples. (Which will be dragging on the floor by then anyway!)

I know
beauty is on the inside, yadda, yadda, yadda, but I can’t handle the facial
hair thing.

Along with
everything else menopause brings you can add excessive facial hair to the list.

This proves
God is a man! Because if God was female, when women reached menopause their
stomachs would get flatter, their breasts would get firmer and they would
remember why they went upstairs and would only have to pee once per day.

It has
become an all out war between me and my hormones.

I wake up
in the morning, turn on my magnifying makeup mirror and began the daily
hunt-and-peck. I feel like an adolescent boy searching for those first signs of
becoming a man, except, I am not a man. I am a middle aged woman going through
menopause and giving Mother Nature the middle finger on a daily bases. I run my
fingers under my chin, I can feel one but I just can’t find it. At least they
are now coming in white now so I don’t notice them right away. A new trick I
learned is to run my mascara lightly over the area then they are easy to find.

It’s so
unfair. Hair on a man’s body denotes strength and sexiness. Hair on a woman’s
body denotes old hag.While I am
plucking hair out, hubby is in the bathroom mirror wishing he could grow some back.

I wish he
could go through menopause.

Let’s face
it, no man dreams of Jeanie with the light brown hair…. On her upper lip and
chin.

I tried
laser hair removal at a fancy spa. $1500 later the over Botoxed, over face
pulled lady told me “Oh, it doesn’t work on white or blond hair. You should try
electrolysis.”

What?

You
couldn’t tell me that $1500 ago?

I spent
weeks letting her zap me with a laser, which feels like someone snapping you
with an elastic band, only to find out it doesn’t work on light hair! I would
have grabbed her by the short and curlys but from the dark brown hair on her
head I got the feeling she didn’t have any.

So I
tracked down one of the few people in town who can do Electrolysis. Believe me,
you don’t want to go to someone who doesn’t know what they are doing. For $20
and 15 minutes, Debbie at Samshara Spa solved my facial hair problem in 4
weeks. Now I just go back for a touch up every month or so. Keep in mind electrolysis
is not pain free. She inserts a needle in the hair follicle and zaps it. It
hurts a little more than plucking with tweezers but a lot less than being
snapped with an elastic band. It also works on blond hair as well as dark. Now
that Debbie has rid me of my chin hairs, she’s doing my eye brows and side
burns. Apparently I am turning in to Chewbacca in my old age.

Now you
know what they say, “A hair on the chin is worth two in the bush.” So Debbie
introduced me to the Brazilian. (This is where men should stop reading. You
wouldn’t be able to take the pain.)

The
Brazilian proved to me that I could survive Guantanamo Bay while laughing in
the face of my captors. She tells me some clients take an Ativan before a
waxing, some have a few drinks and get their husbands to drop them off.

Not me. I
go in drug and alcohol free and let this 5”2, 100 pound Ninja pour hot wax over
my Who-Ha and rip the hair from my body. I am from Freshwater Road, so I am
tough as nails.

Now, I’ve
given birth twice and had a six hour back surgery. So I know pain.

The first
rip is like being kicked in the Who-ha. I can’t lie.

The second
one is like walking on a Lego block without socks on. By the time you’re half
way through, the endorphins kick in and you can’t feel anything. By the time
it’s over you just want to go home, roll up in a ball and rock for a while. The
next day, you feel great and you book another appointment.

Ladies, this
is something you do not want to try at home! The last thing you need is to be
locked in your bathroom after pouring hot wax on yourself and chicken out. When
that wax goes cold, it becomes sealing was and closes up all holes around it.
You will have to call the Fire Department to help you out and ask them to bring
the Jaws of Life.

Although, Debbie tells me she does her own
Brazilian. Now that’s a woman I would follow into a battle.

So
menopause has thrown me another curve ball but Mother Nature is not winning
this round. Not by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin. I won’t be letting my
hair down anytime soon.

I’ve also
made a pact with my Bestie, Nancy, when we end up in a senior’s home we will
pluck each other’s chin hairs.

It’s a
pinky promise that we will not see hide nor hair in our old age.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

While Madonna and her flying nuns were pole dancing on
Crucifix stripper poles, I was throwing up on a security guard in the lobby of
the Air Canada Centre swearing to the EMS workers that I was not drunk!

I should start this story from the beginning….

Months and months ago I sat at my computer continuously
typing my seat preference into the Air Canada Centre’s ticket screen to get
Madonna tickets… the Holy Grail of all concert tickets. Her Rebel Heart Tour was
crossing Canada and I wasn’t going to miss it. I sat there for about 20 minutes
pressing the button like I was playing a Swinging Bell machine. Then, finally,
Jackpot! Two tickets to see Madonna live in concert in Toronto on October 05th!

We talked about it for months. Counting down the weeks, then
days, then hours till we were on a plane and on our way. The weekend was going
to be perfect. We spent our first day at the outlet mall where I bought the
most beautiful Michael Kors purse. Then we went to supper at the CN Tower 360
Restaurant. The next day we drove around Toronto anxiously waiting for 8
o’clock to go to the Air Canada Centre to see the Queen of Pop.

Around 6 o’clock we went to supper at Casey’s Pub near the
Air Canada Centre. I was too excited to eat so I just had a salad and Shrimp
tacos. At 7:00pm we got in the lineup waiting for the doors to open with all
the other Material Girl fans and a homeless cat.

Seriously, the cat was homeless. It was sat on a pole with a
sign that said he couldn’t make his rent. I have a picture and I’ll put it with
this blog.

Finally the doors opened and after buying over $100 in
merchandise to shut me up, hubby and I went to our excellent seats!

Turns out Madonna is not a fan of being on time and didn’t
start until 9:45. Luckily, there were enough drag queens and characters in the
audience to keep me occupied. The last time I saw that many sets of prayer
beads in the same room, I was at Catholic school and they certainly didn’t wear
them with cone bras and lace tops. I was the only one in my row not wearing a
sequins gown and I was most likely the only one born a girl.

Then the lights went down. The audience erupted. The drag
queens cried and I was on my feet. The

most elaborate army of Chinese warriors
carrying large Crosses appeared on stage from thin air. A cage was lowered to
the stage and “Like a Virgin” out she strutted…. Madonna in the flesh.

Everyone was in awe. The 14 year old me had wished I had
also wore my cone bra and lace top. My stomach was flip flopping with
excitement.

The show was nothing short of phenomenal. You’ll never see
another show like it.

An hour into the show I realized my stomach was not flip
flopping with excitement, it was just flip flopping and I had to get to a
bathroom quick. I looked at hubby and said “I got to use the bathroom” and ran
across four drag queens while Madonna sang “Like a Prayer.”

This is when the night got interesting.

By the time I got to the bathroom I was sweating profusely
and blacking out. And against all my Mother’s warnings, I sat on a public
toilet seat without wiping it down first and then lost about five pounds.

The sweat was burning my eyes and I was screaming in my head
“Not now! Not now! I need to get back to Madonna!” I tried to stand up but my
legs were like rubber. I texted hubby and said “Woman down in the bathroom come
quickly!”

A few moments later I heard him calling out my name. I
managed to get myself together and stagger out of the bathroom. I could tell
from the look on his face that I didn’t look like the Material Girl I once was.

The colour was drained from my face. Even my lips were
white. My hair was soaking wet and I was dragging my coat behind me.

“Are you alright? You look like hell!” He grabbed me by the
waist and dragged me to a side door. “You need some air.” A security guard
opened the door and put a chair outside so I could sit down.

“I think I just got overcome with heat. I am alright now.” I
told him and the security guard. I stood to walk back into the arena then a
sudden urge to die came over me and I ran back to the door but the security
guard was not as quick on his feet as hubby, who had moved out of the way, and
while the Material Girl sang “Material Girl” I threw up all over my new fake
snakeskin cowboy boots and the security guard.

I kept apologizing in between heaves and he kept saying it
was ok but I knew he secretly hated me.

EMS responders showed up and took my vitals while asking me,
then hubby, then me, then hubby, again and again how much I had to drink and what
drugs I had been doing.

“Smell the vomit!” I told him. “I didn’t have anything but
fish tacos!” But I knew from the look on

their faces they didn’t believe me.

If I had to know I was going to throw up on a security guard
and pass out at a Madonna concert I would have drank a bottle of Vodka just to
look cooler than I did at that moment, standing in a pile of puked up fish
tacos!

After sizing up the mess and realizing I was completely
sober they cleaned me up and gave me some water. “More than likely food
poisoning” one EMS said.I was
determined to see the end of the concert so hubby tried to get me back to our
seats. I got to the top of the stairs and knew if I threw up on the drag queens
they would scratch my eyes out and I was in no shape to take on a queen in 5
inch heels and a micro mini. So hubby dragged me back to the hotel room.

While I got cleaned up for bed hubby went to get me some
water. By the time he got back I was passed out, naked on the bathroom floor
with my arms around the toilet and I woke up to him putting cold cloths on my
forehead.

Hubby sat on the edge of the bed waiting and trying to
figure out what to do next, while I lay on the floor hugging the toilet. Then I
remembered something….

“Remember the romantic evening we had planned?” I asked him.

“You smell like puke. I think that ship has sailed” He
smiled back.

“Well. Actually the look on your face right now looks
strangely familiar and I just remember where I’ve seen it to before…. Our first
date!”

“Really?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Our first date was a concert at MUN’s Student Center. I was
hosting the concert and I was extremely nervous about being on a first date and
bringing a cop, who actually looked like a cop, to the Thompson Student Center.
So I drank too much to make myself look cooler. Then we went back to your place
and just when you were about to kiss me I threw up and you spent the night
holding my hair out of the toilet and putting cold cloths on my forehead!”

I was surprised at the accuracy of my memory at that moment.

“So this is romantic! It’s a total recreation of our first
date. Except I am throwing up fish tacos instead of Labatt Lite and my hair is
short so you don’t have to hold it out of the toilet.”

“It was red” he answered dully

“What was red?”

“What you were throwing up on our first date. You were
drinking coolers…. And they didn’t make you any cooler.”

“Oh, I can’t believe you remembered, that’s so sweet!”

He picks my limp body off the floor, helps me get into bed
and wipes the dried puke off my face. Then in a final act of true love, he
moved my new Michael Kors purse to the other side of the room.

“Where are you going with that?” I asked.

“Moving it so you don’t throw up in it.”

“My God that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me.”
I choked back a tear, then realize it was actually more fish tacos and ran for
the toilet.

So we may have missed the end of the Madonna Rebel Heart
concert but my rebel heart was very content laying on the floor of a hotel
bathroom watching hubby watch Sports desk while I sang “Crazy for You” in
between heaves of fish tacos.

I am Funny Like That

Helen C. Escott retired from the world renowned Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) in 2014 as the Senior Communications Strategist for Newfoundland and Labrador. Before joining the RCMP she worked in the media for 13 years (OZ FM/ VOCM/ CJYQ) in various positions including reporter, on-air personality, marketing and promotions.

In Retirement, Escott writes a blog called “I am Funny Like That” and has over 123,000 readers worldwide. Now this hysterical blog has come to life a witty book! It ranked on Amazon’s bestsellers list as #6 in Kindle Store and #20 in Books.

Escott has a unique perspective on life and a funny way of looking at it. From wearing granny panties to Brazilians to capturing the essence of a moment in a person’s life. Escott will make you laugh out loud and feel better about yourself. She is the best friend you have always wanted and the life of the party. You will be glad you invited her into your life.

If you have thrown your back out taking off Spanx, planned your husband's murder in your head or screamed through a Brazilian, this book is for you.

If you need a good laugh, or need to smile, this book is better than Prozac it will make you laugh out loud for days after reading it. 123,000 blog readers can't be wrong! Join in the laughter.